


Descent

by ritsuko



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Conceal Don't Feel, Crying, Denial of Feelings, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings, Geralt's feelings are complicated, Men Crying, No Dialogue, Not Beta Read, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Regret, Sad, Self-Reflection, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), geraskier if you squint, thoughts of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23281927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritsuko/pseuds/ritsuko
Summary: Geralt's thoughts post Episode 6.Witchers don't have feelings. Roach knows better.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	Descent

**Author's Note:**

> _You know how when yen and jaskier both left and geralt turned around and rolled his eyes , breathing deeply?_
> 
> _I want 3k words about what happened afterwards. When he was alone. When he was truly alone back in the forest with roach and no one to witness a witcher crying._
> 
> Saw the above tweet from BuckyBabyboy on Twitter this morning and had to write this.
> 
> It’s not 3k, but I hope that’s ok!

He holds his composure. 

When Geralt finally turns, he's alone on the mountain, the sun setting in the distance.

Each step down the mountain is like a death sentence. The life of a Witcher is nothing but loneliness, but the great lie is pretending that it doesn't matter.

That waking alone in his bedroll alone isn't torture. That his steps along the path don't echo loudly in his head. That the darkness on the edges of his vision hasn't completely encompassed his heart.

He pushes the people away that care just as hard as he tries to pull closer those that he's not sure should have a reason to. He's like the ebb and flow of the sea, but feels like a stagnant bog instead. 

Murky waters hiding the truth. 

No one can ever see just how much he needs companionship. 

Not even himself.

By the time he finally makes his way to the mountain's base camp, all traces of the dwarves, and reavers are gone. There is no scent of lilac and gooseberries on the air. No sound of lute strings on the evening wind.

He lets out a breath that he didn't know he'd been keeping in.

Roach is munching happily on a patch of grass, and it seems someone has left a bag of oats for her. She nickers softly as he approaches, and he reaches a hand out to pat her muzzle. She's the one constant in his life, at least, until the next Roach comes along. And that should be enough for him. 

Kill the monsters, get the coin. Head to Kaer Morhen in the Winter.

Try not to die.

Drink the potions, swallow the pain. Fight and get stabbed and bruised and broken and get back up, because that's all there is in life.

There's no room for purple eyes and a wild heart and raw power that can crush him like an ant, but is still somehow, so, so vulnerable and in need of someone to help make sense of all of the broken pieces of herself. Even though she would deny it.

Nor was there the room for plucky smiles and constant torrent of words and songs and questions and hopes and looks that tumbled from the bard, whose eyes so blue, beseeched him in ways that the Witcher couldn't even begin to start unpacking. He knew what the the bard felt.

Geralt just. . . could not. Both of these people, the things he felt. . .

They weren't for a Witcher to feel.

The only thing he is allowed is to be a weapon.

Roach gently butts him with her head, and his somber eyes relax slightly. They are gone. The dragon, gone. Again, he's all alone.

As it should be. 

Geralt's fingers stiffen as he sees a flash of yellow in her forelock- a stray dandelion that the bard had been plaiting into her mane in his boredom. There had been more, but this one, managed to stay, bright and accusatory.

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

His own words ring in his mind, and for a moment he can't breathe.

Maybe it's destiny. Maybe he's fulfilled his own prophecy. One way or another, Jaskier is gone. 

With trembling fingers, he reaches out to pluck the bloom from Roach's mane. By this point, its dried out, crumbling, petals wilted. Much like the Bard's face when he yelled at him on the mountaintop.

There's a stabbing pain in his chest, and Geralt bites his lip.

It's been such a long time, but he can't stop it now. There's no one to see, no one to realize that all of the tales of Witchers are untrue. Words passed down to him like a litany fill his head.

_Witchers don't feel._

He can remember his earliest days in the training yard, a squabble with another boy, Clovis. Them both getting their hides tanned for infighting. Vesemir sternly telling them how they must act.

_We have no emotions._

Throughout the years, learning to conceal the anger, the rejection, the hurts, the sorrow. Watching other initiates around him dying left and right after the grasses. Weak with worry that he might be next.

_Humans won't trust you._

Field trips down to the closer towns to carry out contracts. The fear in the human's eyes at the sight of their catlike pupils. 

_Humans won't like you._

The jeers, people spitting at them. And all the while, not being able to say a word. 

_You exist to serve a purpose, nothing more._

Killing drowners, ghouls, even a wraith. Eskel had gotten a burn from that- Someone had gotten careless with their Igni. Geralt had shown worry, and gotten cuffed upside the head for it.

"You think humans will show compassion for you?" Varin had sneered. "Never let anyone see what you are feeling. Or else they will use that to their advantage."

_You think that's unfair? That's destiny._

Once he'd gotten on the path, he'd come across a girl, about to be brutalized by men. He'd imagined himself a hero, a knight in shining armor, slaying the foul beasts that would befoul her.

She'd screamed and vomited.

_You're here for a reason and that's to kill monsters, nothing more._

He'd isolated. Killed for coin. Done his work. Gone home every Winter as he was supposed to. Tried to find some semblance of companionship within the walls, and mostly just sat and drank in companionable silence with Eskel, or listened to Lambert brag about his season on the Path.

_Try as you might, that's what we are here for. Until you get old or you get slow, and then you die._

Then the pogrom happened. None of them could feel it on the breeze, or maybe none of them had wanted to admit it. But the Fall he came home to seventy some less Witchers and initiates, and a hollow eyed Vesemir, the change on the wind was certain.

Kaer Morhen reeked of death.

_Don't get involved with others._

He tried to stay out of things.

And then Blaviken. Renfri. 

Even her name was a dagger to the heart.

Then, he was the monster.

_That just makes it harder._

But that blue eyed Bard had come out of nowhere nearly two decades ago and clung to him like lichen on a rock. Had made him the hero that he'd dreamed of being when he was a little boy.

_So don't let them see._

Still, he'd kept him at arms length. They traveled together, but he'd done his best to be reticent. Still, the bard had his way of worming into his subconscious.

He'd tried to deny it. Tried to tie his fate with the enchantress, tried to give her a second chance and ended up royally mucking it up.

And in the end, he'd blamed it all on Jaskier.

_Hide whatever it is you have going on, deep, deep inside._

It's all his fault, and he knows it.

He turns his face into Roach's shoulder, tears falling freely. Silently, sobs wrack his shoulders. There is no one that can see him or hear him, but it's as natural as breathing.

Hide. Your. Emotions.

Roach nickers quietly.

After all, Witchers don't feel.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me as orcbae on twitter/insta/tumblr!
> 
> Please leave a kudo and/or comment if you enjoyed!


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